the weight
by sarah.schoemberger
Summary: "As he dresses, the layers that allow him to go out on the street, looking like a normal human being, put themselves in place. Tightly over him." - the daily struggle of Scorpius with the weight of not having Rose around.


I've published this story a good while ago, but there were a few things that have always bothered me (a few are still there, but then it would mean to write the whole thing again, and I'm not up for that now) so I made some changes. They're very subtle, but I'm much happier with it now.

- Cheers.

Thank you again my **wonderful** friend and now beta (poor girl) Josephinee. All my love.

In the middle a little something for her.

**disclaimer:** no copyright infringement intended.

* * *

He opens his eyes and takes a few seconds to realise what this is - yes, another day. The sunlight crosses the room, leaving traces of shadows on the walls. The day is clean and bright – almost an offence to his fatigued retinas and an insult to the weight he's been carrying on his shoulders.  
He sits on the bed and sighs wearily; looking at the watch and still a little numb from sleep he thinks of her for the first time. Her voice echoes crystal clear in his ears, like if he had heard it yesterday. Always light and conspiratorial; for them only.

_Wake up…come on, you lazy arse, you're going to be late…_

He gets up and takes slow steps to the bathroom; looks at the mirror with dull sad eyes. Throws water on his face, waiting for the coldness to awaken him. With a light flick of his wand he turns the shower on. The water flows down his body, as if it could relieve him of his heavy burden. Just the right temperature.  
The happy voice sets in...

_I like it hotter but, just for you I'll take it…_

He steps out of the shower and calmly takes a towel. When he's dry, he dresses neatly and looks in the mirror again. The clothes are sophisticated and tidy. Very aristocratic.  
Again it reminds him of the mocking voice…

_A little too much, don't you think, Mister?_

He can hear her laughing while saying it.

As he dresses, the layers that allow him to go out on the street, looking like a normal human being, put themselves into place. Tightly over him. One by one they make the man who is finally ready to leave home. He settles the weight on his shoulders, hiding them in a secret place. Away from the world's eyes.  
From the alley where he Apparated to the shop he buys his coffee every morning he walks through a small garden and a light breeze hits his face.

_Don't you just love the wind in your face? It tickles..._

The gait is slow, but steady, almost determined. He walks in the store and prepares to order the usual.

_I don't know how you can drink such a strong coffee. Come on, say it, you do it to impress me, right?_

He almost feels the light nudge on the arm, just the way she used to do it when making fun of his demeanour. Before he can say the new customary words to the counter girl, his mouth does an involuntary movement, taking advantage of his drifting mind.

"Double espresso and an Earl Grey, please."

The girl regards him a weird look, but turns around and prepares the drinks with no protest. Inside he's thanking her for not questioning his curious request.  
With both drinks at hand he enters St. Mungo's. He passes through the hallway muttering a few good-mornings – politely preserving the distance established between him and all the rest of the world. The weight is now on his right shoulder.

_You're not rude. You're just reserved. I don't know how people can't realise the difference!_

At work he talks, sees patients and walks through the corridors as is if he's a whole man inside. Nothing has been taken from him. Like life went by at stride and he was with it - not sideways - watching as if observing a bizarre film of his own existence. Whereas, his mind works like a rhythmic hammer. A song with only one note.  
The weight is now on his neck and the voice…

_I love pumpkin juice, don't you?_

During his break he eats a piece of fruit and watches the Muggle news.

_This Daily Prophet is worse everyday!_

In the middle of the afternoon he conjures a breeze at the Healers lounge.

_A hot day like this makes me want ice-cream all the time._

Heals a child, while the kid is getting scolded by the mother.

_I so need to tell you the funniest thing that happened to me today!_

Debate with a colleague, a mutual acquaintance, about the latest news on research and Healer's advances. Bites his tongue not to ask about her, what she's doing, if she's happy. Takes in, like the sweetest nectar, every time a story happens to include her. His heart speeds up every time her name is mentioned, though on the outside he remains impassive, like it's appropriate for the character he created himself to be.  
The weight shifts to the back; and the voice keeps going…

_What a refined face! Loose that frown!_

End of the day, time to return home. He decides to take a walk. The weight accommodated on both shoulders. Her voice says…

_Fresh days are so good for one's mood…_

He goes through stores feeling anaesthetized. The layers are falling down. The exhaustion is becoming apparent. His resignation shows its existence.  
The weight gets heavier as he approaches home. And then again...

_Have you read this new book of Reynaerts? Please do so, and then we can talk about it…_

A child is crying.

_Children crying can be so annoying, don't you think?_

An old man helps a lady with some bags.

_Do you reckon existence précède l'essence?_

He wants to scream as he enters his building; a typical downtown flat. Enough space, as much as a modern flat can have. Close the door and sighs in relief. The weight is now on its full. The mask drops down. His layers start to fall apart, one after the other. The constant voice speaks louder.

_I'm so lazy. Let's stay in?_

Maybe a bath. It might help with the weight.

_Are you teasing me, sir? Just so you know it won't work._

Puts his pyjama bottom and walks barefoot to the kitchen.

_Hurry up! Tonight you're all mine!_

He hears the bell; feels a tightening in his chest. No one has visited him since. He adjusts the weight, now on his left shoulder and masks his features into the poker face.

Opens the door and his breath is caught in his throat;

Astonishment.

He stares at her while the rest of his surroundings turns into a blur. He focuses on the tears in her eyes. There's the voice again – only now it's here, and it's real.

"I swear this is your only chance."

One second of silence. A long exhale. The weight is gone.


End file.
